Murlocs
by crystalgamer
Summary: A dwarf and troll unexpectedly meet. Hoping to add to this story (eventually) Meant for nostalgia and feels. Mostly focusing in lore and questing.
1. Heroes Call Board

Murlocs. Why did it have to be murlocs? The stout dwarf paladin always knew that one day his time to die would come, but he always assumed that it would come somewhat more… heroically. The day had started out as normal: going to the call board in the main square of Stormwind where notices were posted. A single job stood had stood out: Travel to Stone Cairn Lake, kill some murlocs and take the head of their leader. It was perfect, just a short detour on his way to Eastvale logging camp, and then maybe onto Redridge. Easy enough, right?

The dwarf looked around himself and panicked. He was surrounded and the largest Murloc was pointing at him with a long jagged fingernail and chanting at him in its whiney gravelly voice. At that moment he knew that he was done. When the spell finished he would breathe his last and well… he brought his shield to bear, blocking the thought from his mind. Suddenly _it_ appeared from nowhere. In a flash of claw, fur, and a fantastic spurt of blood the shaman suddenly lay on the ground, his neck broken and back flayed open. Standing over him was a cat, striped with huge fangs protruding from its jaws. The paladin smacked a murloc with his hammer, then backhanded the last remaining one with his shield and then quickly surveyed the battle scene. About a dozen murlocs lay dead in ring around him. Partially due to his hubris and partially due to their nasty habit of finding friends where you think there are none. He then took note of his rescuer. Suddenly he tensed, sensing the danger he was in. How could he have missed it? The bright, red mane the cat sported or the braids in it or the many bones and bits of metal pushed through its ears or the war paint adorning its back. Troll! Horde!

He reassumed his fighting stance, expecting an ambush. The cat slowly backed away from him, and then….changed. Fur melted off of the figure and blue fur turned into blue skin, fangs transformed into short tusks. Soon, crouching before him was a troll in a defensive stance, daggers in her hands. She was wearing a skimpy studded leather top and leather pants, a series of buckles holding the loose folds tight against her curves. She held her ground silently, slowly bringing one daggered hand to her mouth, and then a shrill whistle pierced the air.

This is when he would die. He knew it. At least being a casualty of war was a little more glorious (and far less embarrassing) than dying to creatures that were considered little more than a nuisance. Suddenly, a large green raptor burst from the undergrowth and, startled, the dwarf let loose a roar and charged towards the attacker. Before he knew it the troll had swung herself onto the creatures back in one smooth motion and was riding away from him. He was taken aback in the moment, and then awestruck. This troll wasn't trying to ambush him at all, instead, she had saved his life.

He watched her ride away, his face concentrating as he tried to memorize every detail of the duo. From the way her raptors green tail whipped back and forth, to how her long red braided mane fell down her back, almost to her waist and how she gracefully moved with the creature as it bounced along the trail, south, away from Stone Cairn Lake.


	2. Stonefire Tavern

It had been a long day and Gerrett was badly in need of a drink. He had turned in the slimy green head of the murloc chief for a small amount of silver, and face. But his pride still stung with the events of earlier that day.

"Bah, rescued… by a troll no less!" He muttered under his breath as he stalked towards the Stonefire Tavern. After he had finished his business in Eastvale he decided to head for home instead of pressing east into Redridge. The entire trip back to Ironforge on the Deep Run Tram, a massive underground rail line that served to connect Stormwind and Ironforge, his shoulders to stooped lower and lower from the weight of defeat and the weight of not truly earned silver in his pockets. Not even the staggering architecture that whizzed by at incredible speeds could take his mind off of that troll and her long red mane. He walked into the tavern and slid onto the neared bar stool and rested his hammer against the counter and ordered a stoat. The dark, frothy drink splashed into a simple metal stein which was unceremoniously deposited in front of him by an older dwarf with an impressive flaming red beard. He eyed that beard as he pulled his drink towards himself,

"I hope there's no hairs in here!" he joked towards the dwarf as he raised his stein, a forced smile on his lips. Often he found that the best medicine for a sore heart was an attempt at laughter. The barkeep laughed his rolling laughter, his girth bouncing,

"Now lad, no need to be jealous!" He retorted with his usual mirth. Innkeeper Firebrew was known for two things, well, maybe 3. One was his large selection of the finest dwarven alcohol on this side of Ironforge, the other was for his love of jokes and easygoing spirit. His laughter could turn any frown into a smile even on the coldest, dreariest day that Dun Morogh could offer, and it offered plenty. The third thing, well… at this moment she was over behind the counter, writing in a book. But when the Tavern was full of dwarves yearning for a drink she would be out showing off her ample bosom to any young man with wondering eyes.

The keep offered Gerrett a sidelong glance, "Sooooo…. is there any reason yer here early? I mean, the way you were talking last night I figured you'd be gone at least a week. Heading towards Redridge wasn't ye?"

Gerrett choked on his drink a little, reddening, "Yeah" He took a moment to regain his composure, "little change of plans I think".

Firebrew chuckled, "What, ye meet a nice lass?"

This comment caused Gerrett to choke a bit more, "Wha? Noo, noo, nothing like that."

Firebrew refilled Gerretts stein, "Wouldn't be the first time a young lad changed his plans fer a bit o' tail. Fine, keep yer secrets. For now. The brew will get ye talking soon enough."

Gerrett raised an eyebrow, weighing the truth in the innkeepers words. Usually when he was here the tavern it was busy and there was no time for little more than exchange of pleasantries with the staff "I was thinking about going south… you know, instead of east."

Firebrew picks up a tankard and begins wiping it nonchalantly, "oh? Blackrock? Unforgiving wasteland, unforgiving dwarves. Wouldn't go without a friend or two to watch yer back."

Garrett stares into the dull, smudged reflection in his metal stein, "I was thinking more south."

The keep tilts his head, curiosity piqued "Going back through Stormwind then? Maybe head to Duskwood? Heard there's a bit of undead nonsense and whatnot with Kharazan so close."

Gerrett turns his cup reflexively, examining the other side, "more….south"

Firebrew frowns, "More south? Not many people go more south. Gets you awfully close to troll territory and Stormwind doesn't patrol that far. Ye know, that's near where the orcs first came through the dark portal! Unforgiving lands there. Are ye sure that's what ye want to do? "

Gerrett sits up strait, a plan forming in his mind, "Yes, I think I might."


End file.
